


They Never Know (Dead Leaves)

by Idreamt_once



Category: EXO (Band), NCT (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: M/M, idk man, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-04-21 11:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14283543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idreamt_once/pseuds/Idreamt_once
Summary: Chanyeol and Jimin are young college students and roommates. Money is tight, but life is content. They are free to do what they want. That is, until Jimin suddenly goes missing one day. As Jimin's only friend and the closest thing he has to a family, Chanyeol decides to go looking for him, since the police don't care about one missing student with no money and no influence, too busy dealing with the string of assassinations in town, done by the underground rivals, EXO and BTS. Too bad Chanyeol acts before he thinks, because he gets caught right in the middle of this mess. Can Chanyeol get Jimin and escape before both gangs set their sights on them, ensuring death?





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Back at it with that maf shit, but I'm inspired af rn, because of Kookie's Euphoria and CBX's comback. Yes, I'm an ARMY-L, and my biases are the hyungs. They're so cute, I can't help it. I hope that people won't hate me for combining the groups, I just think that 16 hot and talented guys are better than just 7 or 9. The title of each chapter tells which band/gang it's centered around, so BST would be BTS and Monster would be EXO, so on and so forth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just and introduction to the characters. I did taper with the ages a little bit, but I tried to make the roles fit the personality of the members. Hope you enjoy!

EXO

* * *

The Members

**Junmyeon (Suho)-** Age: 28- Head of the EXO gang. Known for his leadership skills. He is known for his mercilessness.

 **Minseok (Xiumin)-** Age: 28- Head Intel of EXO. He is more active with people, gathering information on the field. He is known for his intelligence.

 **Jongin (Kai)-** Age: 23- Assassin of EXO. He prefers face-to-face confrontations. He is known for his speed. 

 **Baekhyun-** Age: 25- Assassin of EXO. He prefers to snipe victims from far away, claiming he dislikes the blood. He is known for his shooting skills.

 **Yixing (Lay)-** Age: 27- Medic of EXO. He hates the killing, but he doesn't have another home, so he just patches the guys up. He is known for his inability to feel physical pain. 

 **Jongdae (Chen)-** Age: 25- Intel of EXO. He tends to stay at the base, preferring to resort to hacking rather than field analysis. He is known for his tech skills. 

 **Kyungsoo (D.O)-** Age: 24- Explosives Captain of EXO. He makes all his bombs from scratch and has various types to suit the circumstance. He is known for his strength. 

 **Sehun-** Age: 23 - Socialite. Not really a member of EXO, but he's there almost 24/7, so they've just accepted him. He is known for his wealth and stone heart to all except his brother, Chenle. 

 

Apprentices

**Jisung-** Age: 16- Apprentice of Kai. He is the youngest official member of EXO. 

 **Sicheng (Winwin)-** Age: 20- Apprentice of Lay. He assists his master in performing surgeries. He's done so many bullet wounds that he can fix one by himself in eight and a half minutes. 

 **Chenle-** Age: 16- Sehun's half-brother. He is illegitimate child of an affair of the owner of Oh Enterprises. Sehun cherishes his brother dearly. 

 **Taeyong-** Age: 23- Apprentice of Suho. Next head of EXO. He is known for his seductiveness and ability to use that to wheedle information out of people. 

 **Kun-** Age: 22- Apprentice of Jongdae. Computer whiz, second only to Jongdae. Best friends with Lucas.

 **Yukhei (Lucas)-** Age: 19- Apprentice of Xiumin. He is extremely observant. Has an easygoing personality. Best friends with Kun.

 

BTS

* * *

 

The Members

**Namjoon (RM)-** Age: 24- Head of BTS. He is known for his negotiating skills. He is known for his intelligence. 

 **Seokjin (Jin)-** Age: 26- Medic of BTS. He is kind and sees the good in people. Formerly an apprentice under the old Head of EXO, but left due to mysterious reasons. He is known for his caring and good judgement. 

 **Yoongi (Suga) -**  Age: 25- Assassin of BTS. He is secretive and excluded, though he is open to his members. He is known for his fighting abilities. 

 **Taehyung (V)-**  Age: 22- Heir to an international company that no one knows much about. He is really wealthy.

 **Hoseok (J-Hope)-** Age: 23- Head Intel of BTS. Insanely inteligent, can keep files straight in his head. He is known for his observant personality.  

 **Jungkook-**  Age: 20- Youngest member of BTS. He is decently skilled in all fields, having followed the others in their jobs. He is known for his quick-thinking and his ability to manipulate words. 

* * *

 **Chanyeol-**   Age: 25- Part-time casino worker. Roommates with Jimin. He is known for his ability to throw poker cards.

 **Jimin-** Age: 23- Part-time dance teacher. Roommates with Chanyeol. He is known for his strength. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited! I can't wait to write this fic. I already have a general idea of what's going to happen. I'll also end up adjusting tags as I go, just because I'm too lazy right now to do so.


	2. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief introduction to the EXO faction. BTS is next week, dearies!

He’s careful, finger moving slowly to the trigger. Two shots. One to shatter the glass, one to strike the man between his eyebrows. Baekhyun’s finger hovers over the trigger.  _ Click. Click.  _ Done. The man falls to the floor, blood oozing from his forehead. Baekhyun lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He quietly packs up his sniper, shoving it into the guitar case and slings it across his back. He fastens the pistol around his belt, just in case. Searching for the bullet casings, he picks them up and shoves them into his pocket, careful not to leave evidence. He climbs down from the building and heads towards the base, guitar case heavy on his back

* * *

Winwin hands a white cotton strip to Lay as Lay tries to calm the crying trainee. Winwin takes a towel to start cleaning up the blood as Lay ties the bandage on the knife wound. It wasn’t particularly deep, but it was long, running from her elbow to the shoulder blade. Lay ties the ends of the bandage together and sends the trainee off.

 

Winwin knows Lay well enough to know that Lay hates the blood. He hates how he has to use his skills in this way. When Suho had approached the then just-graduated student, Lay had readily accepted, especially since he knew that jobs were going to be hard for him. He was a foreigner who had come to study, a young man out of an orphanage, attending medical school on financial aid. He had barely spoke the language, and had no references. He was, however, very intelligent, managing to finish at the top of his year.  Winwin, on the other hand, was born into the mafia. His mother had known that when she committed lechery, knowing that she would have no choice but to give him up to the brutal training system. 

 

The training system was cruel. Starting from the age of eight, children spent the mornings studying, like any other child would. But for seven hours a day, children of the mafia would fight and shoot, learning fighting skills and throwing knives. They were taught how to treat a wound, how to manage an explosive, how to endure the pain. Most importantly, they were taught that Suho, who often visited them in training, looked like a gentleman, but was cold and ruthless to those who were not loyal. Loyalty was key. Towards the end of each year for a month, the heads without apprentices or searching would visit the trainees, keeping an eye out for those that were exceptional. It was almost like college acceptance; those who worked hard throughout would have higher chances of being chosen. Those who slacked off regularly but only tried in that month were also noticed, since their overall ranking was low. If they were chosen, they would learn the trade of their respective master. If they were not chosen by their eighteenth year, they would be handed the lower ranking jobs. Winwin had always placed first in the medic category, so Lay took him in as an apprentice. Similarly, Jisung had always beaten out the competition for his first place rank in fighting and Kun always scored perfects on his exams. Taeyong, on the other hand, always ranked first overall. When Xiumin had picked Lucas, Kun and Lucas had bonded right away, since they both spent so much time in the security office and shared a common interest in snacking. 

 

Winwin places the bloody towel in the basket and washes his hands. Lay is placing the antiseptics back into the cabinet, careful to place them in the designated spot.  _ Everything in the hospital wing has a place _ was one of the first lessons that Winwin learned. Lay wasn’t exactly a neat person, but when it came to his job, Lay was obsessive. He stayed up, reading about the latest medical discoveries, or watching Winwin continue his studies, often helping him along. Winwin was sure that the doctor would have been rich, even without the mafia. Lay’s success rate for surgeries was almost at 100%, thanks to his never-ending practice from it. The field teams were most often in the hospital wing for injuries, ranging from bullet wounds to knife cuts and even poison, in the case of Red Velvet, the all-female special operatives team. The girls of Red Velvet may look cute and harmless, but as soon as their Captain, Irene, gives the signal, the adorable girls turn into something much more. 

 

Winwin entered into the training system later than most kids. He wasn’t nearly as good a fighter as the younger, more experienced kids. He wasn’t as smart as Kun with technology, or as good at leading as Taeyong. One thing that did interest him was anatomy and physiology. Winwin could only speak his mother tongue when he’d joined, but he didn’t need language skills to be able to identify pressure points or how to bandage a wound. He’d studied hard, and when he found out that the mentor for healing was fluent in his mother tongue, it made him study even harder. It only took six months for Winwin to rise to the top of the rankings. His rank in the other categories stayed low, barely passing fighting class, and only because he knew where to punch for it to hurt. When he was fifteen, Lay had come to visit the trainees and noticed him right away. For the teacher-student pair, it was a match made in heaven. 

* * *

 

 

“I asked you where the money is, sweetheart,”.

 

A cold, unyielding voice echoes in the dimly lit room. One single lamp shines a spotlight on the victim, whose hands are cuffed down to the unyielding steel table. Kai’s faceis hard, eyes twinkling with a dark light. Behind him, Jisung’s normally cheerful eyes are focused, his elegant fingers twirling a wicked 5-inch knife. Jisung leans his back against the cold cement wall, waiting for Kai’s command. It’s been three cold hours and this stupid-ass man simply won’t say anything. Jisung’s chilled to the bone, despite wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He wonders what the man must feel, wearing a threadbare t-shirt. He decides to never double-cross the Mafia like this man did, stealing money from the Head, Suho. 

 

“Still being a vegetable, I see,” Kai says, voice cutting through the silence like a hot knife through butter. Kai doesn’t need to turn to know that Jisung is prepared. The 16-year-old is used to this, having followed Kai since he was ten. Jisung steps out of the shadows, light blond hair gleaming in the dim lighting. The man looks almost entranced by Jisung. 

 

“So young,” the man says to Jisung. Jisung doesn’t reply, but he doesn't miss the scoff coming from Kai, who retreated, watching his apprentice.

 

“Old enough to make you talk,” Jisung replies in an almost sing-song voice. He stops twirling the knife, checking his reflection in the shiny but worn metal. He ruffles his hair, noting strands that fell out of place. The man stares at him in awe, as if he’s never seen a sixteen-year-old junior assassin before. He probably hasn’t. 

 

“Why don’t you run home to your mama instead of hanging out with  _ them _ ?” Oh, he’s trying to provoke the teen. Jisung feels a pang in his heart, but doesn’t dare show it. He drags the tip of his knife along the man’s cheek, hard enough to make him feel uncomfortable, but not hard enough to cut. The man shivers at the cold metal. Jisung smiles. 

 

“Too bad your own mother left you, Seungwan. Maybe you’d be a better person if she was around,” Jisung says casually, pushing the knife into the dry skin and flicking his wrist expertly. Crimson blood oozes from the 4-inch gash. The man screams. Jisung doesn’t hesitate, flicking another one right on top, crisscrossing the wounds. Blood spurts onto the table. 

 

“Dammit, I need to wash this again?” Jisung cries out, eyeing the dots of blood on his leather jacket. Kai only laughs. 

 

“That’s the bad part of this trade, Jisung. It ruins your clothes,” Kai says to the grumbling teen. Jisung’s angry. Goddammit, if only this fucking idiot would talk, then maybe he wouldn’t have to spend another day cleaning the expensive leather. He seizes one of the man’s wrists and cuts an expert slit across the vein, watching as the blood starts to leak from the wound. Jisung smiles at the horrified man. 

 

“You have about half an hour before you bleed to death,” Jisung says, evil gleam in his eyes, “I suggest you fucking start talking now, and maybe we’ll stitch you the fuck up before you get tossed back to whatever hellhole you came from,”. At this, Kai tuts at Jisung.

 

“Such profanity for such a young child,” Kai says, walking over to pat Jisung on the back. The younger only rolls his eyes at Kai, but steps away from the table to allow Kai to deal with the man. A knocking from the door sends Jisung scrambling to his feet, not wanting Kai to be distracted anymore than he already is with the questioning. 

 

“Taeyong,” Jisung bows to his elder. Taeyong pats Jisung on the head and walks over to Kai.

 

“Progress?” 

Kai shakes his head. Taeyong sighs. 

 

“Go get Kun and tell him to bring a medical kit, I’ll handle this,”. Kai nods at Jisung to get Kun, while Kai himself steps back into the shadows, letting Taeyong handle Seungwan. Jisung runs through the base to the offices, knowing that Kun’s probably there, snacking while watching the security feeds. 

 

When he swings open the door, a flying bag of chips almost hits him in the face, but his trained reflexes kick in, catching the bag. Kun’s grinning at him. Jisung opens the chips greedily, realizing that he hasn’t eaten in five hours since they’d went to track down the man. 

 

“Hey Jisung, whatcha need?” Kun says between mouthfuls of Sachima*, twirling around in his chair to type at the keyboard across the cramped space. Jisung takes a swig from Kun’s water bottle, feeling suddenly thirsty. 

 

“Taeyong wants you to bring a medi-kit to PC-06,” Jisung says. Kun nods, standing up to go get the flashdrive-sized device from a cabinet. They both know what Taeyong’s going to do. Kun needs to plant the recording device into the medi-kit, and while Taeyong bandages the wounds, he’ll use his charms to make the man talk. The classic good-cop bad-cop setup. Except it’s not good-cop, it’s freaking Lee Taeyong, who’s practically God-cop. 

 

Kun plugs the device into his laptop, copying the files before removing them from the device. Meanwhile, Jisung goes across the hall to grab the first-aid kit. When Jisung comes back to the office, Kun’s just finishing up. 

 

They work silently, each knowing the other so well that no words are needed as they tape the device to the fake bottom of the medi-kit. Kun grabs his backpack that he carries everywhere and taps out a quick message for Chen while Jisung steals a water bottle from the fridge under the sink, relishing in the cold liquid. They head out of the office at a jog, Kun locking the door behind them. The security room is too precious to leave unlocked. 

 

When they arrive at Prison Cell #6, Kai’s standing outside the doorway, leaning against it with his head hung in exhaustion. Kun reaches into his backpack and hands Kai a water bottle and two sandwiches. Kai accepts them gratefully. Trust Kun to always have food with him. Kun walks into the cell alone, leaving Jisung and Kai outside. Kai hands him a sandwich. Together, they wait with the taste of ham and fresh lettuce on their tongue. 

 

Kun always hated the PC’s. They were cold and damp, often with creepy crawlers sitting in the corners, but he has to do what he has to do. Years of training did not raise a wimp. Kun walks confidently towards Taeyong, who’s sitting across from the man, his hand pressed to the man’s wound to stop it from further bleeding. Kun does a quick bow to Taeyong, who nods his head. Kun looks at the man.  _ He must have made Jisung mad _ Kun thinks, eyeing the cuts on the man’s face and the bloody wrist. He pulls the medi-kit out of his backpack, places it on the table, and moves to bandage the wound. He’s no Winwin, but they all know basic first aid. He grabs another water bottle and runs it over the wound and Taeyong’s now-bloody hand. Taeyong retracts his hand and takes the towel from Kun’s backpack, drying his hands. Kun’s expertly wraps the wound, tying it tightly to stop the bleeding. Taeyong reaches over and uses the towel to dab the blood off the man’s face. Kun then moves to place a adhesive bandage over the X. 

 

“I’m so sorry they did this to you,” Taeyong says, false guilt thick in his voice. Kun notices, but the man eats it up like a sponge to water. Kun doesn’t allow emotion to betray his face as he hands a water bottle to the man and Taeyong. Kun takes the chair next to Taeyong, pulling his considerably lighter backpack towards him, but leaving the medi-kit out and still open, bandage wrappers strewn everywhere. Time for Taeyong to play some tricks. 

 

“I hope you don’t hate me.” Taeyong says, sadness creeping into his voice. “I just want you to know that the two outside aren’t representative of all of us. Some of us are quite...nice.” Taeyong says at the end, biting his lip, acting shy. Kun holds his breath to keep from scoffing at the expression of the man who’s totally buying into Taeyong. 

 

“It’s fine, really,” the man says, “Call me Seungwan.” Kun and Taeyong already know this, but Taeyong nods anyway. 

 

“Seungwan, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” Taeyong’s voice is still dripping with poisoned honey. 

 

“Go ahead, beautiful,” 

The praise makes Kun uncomfortable. Taeyong is gorgeous, but that’s not for Seungwan to point out. Kun keeps a placid face as Taeyong continues. 

 

“Did anyone make you invade our base and take our money?” Straight to the point. Good-old Taeyong. 

 

“Yes, someone did make me rob Suho,” Seungwan speaks almost absent-mindedly, eyes staring at Taeyong’s lips. His gaze gives Kun shivers, but Taeyong isn’t affected. 

 

“Who?”

 

“The other people”

 

“Who?”

 

“They call themselves BTS,”.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Sachima - a Chinese dessert/snack made of flour and honey.


	3. Blood, Sweat, and Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed some character descriptions in the first chapter because I realized I fucked up lmao. 
> 
> Also shameless puns. I'm so sorry.

      “Fuck,” Suga mutters. His footing on the roof slips a little as the rain comes down harder. He’s careful, finger moving slowly to the trigger. Two shots. One to shatter the glass, one to strike the man right through the temple. Suga takes a deep breath.

      “I’m sorry,” he mutters as he pulls the trigger. _Click. Click._ Done. Another target down. Suga quietly packs his things, wanting to head back as soon as possible. He slings the backpack over his shoulder and jumps down onto the fire escape. His shoes are silent as he runs down the metal stairs. Suga swings himself over the railing, feet landing directly in a puddle.

      “Fuck my life,”

* * *

      “What the hell?,” RM mutters, eyeing the slip of paper. It was a brief sentence, but it said a lot.

 

_EXO was able to do it quicker and cheaper._

 

      It was _them_ again. The older, more established group. RM knew that his group was already giving EXO a run for their money, but it seemed that their client base was just too big to infiltrate. RM runs his hand through his hair, annoyed. He reaches across the desk, knocking his bottle of water over in the process.

      “Shit.” His clumsiness was well known. He managed to break anything and everything at any given moment, which is why Jin banned him from the hospital wing. It became apparent after the fifth bottle he broke that maybe, just maybe, his almost six foot self should not spend more than three minutes in the room with many glass things.

      A knock sounds at his door. A pair of innocent-looking eyes peeks out from the doorframe.

      “Jungkook. What’s up?” RM asks. Jungkook smiles, and walks up to RM, placing a file in his hands.

      “Drug business,” Jungkook says. RM blinks at him before remembering.

      “Right. How’d that go?”

      “Decently. I think it’s much more beneficial if I go instead of Hobi. He’s too old for that, the kids don’t trust him,”

      “Did he just call me old?” A disgruntled J-Hope shows up at the door, his hair a mess and his clothes rumpled. _Did he take another nap?_ RM thinks.

      “Yes. Old men tend to nap frequently, like you, hyung,” Jungkook says, a playful smile on his charming face. J-Hope smiles at Jungkook sarcastically. RM sighs as the two leave the room, playful banter echoing down the hallway until the voices fade. RM glances at the clock before deciding that maybe he should retire for the night. It was almost 03:00 anyway.

      RM opts to take the long route, to see if Jin has gone to bed yet. He frowns when he notices light coming from the hospital wing.

      “Hyung?” RM asks quietly, not wanting to startle Jin, but Jin jumps anyway.

      “Hmm?” Jin murmurs, head buried in a book.

      “Why aren’t you asleep yet, aren’t you tired?”

      “Not really, you should sleep though,” a pause, then Jin looks up, “Did Jungkook bring the file to you?”

      “Yeah, why?”

      “He’s pretty proud of it. He’s worked hard. Our little baby isn’t so little anymore,” Jin says, rising up and stretching his arms. RM tries to keep his gaze straight, but he can’t deny that he glanced a little at the sliver of skin below Jin’s shirt. _Fuck, Jin’s so beautiful._

      “Uh…” RM starts, his fingers fiddling with the straps of his hoodie. His heart starts pounding in his chest.

      “RM, go sleep,” Jin says, empathy in his voice, “I really would rather we lose a deal than have you collapse. Please.” RM sighs.

      “You too,”

* * *

       Jungkook is smart. He knows it, everyone else admits it. Well, everyone except RM. Ok, so RM is smarter, but Jungkook would still consider himself smart. Despite never going to college, he had studied Advanced Chemistry in high school, and could still recall with certainty many properties of chemicals and their molar masses and all that fancy shit. J-Hope had welcomed the help. J-Hope and Jungkook were quick to bond. J-Hope had the experience with the drugs, having been born and raised on the streets. Jungkook had the knowledge, and together, they were the most well-known dealers in the city, bypassing EXO’s by a long stretch. At first, J-Hope had insisted that Jungkook stay at the base while J-Hope sold, but eventually Jungkook convinced him. Jungkook found it really easy to read the buyers, and judge them quickly based on how they talked, what they wore, what kind of person they were, so on and so forth. As the months went on, Jungkook became familiar with the regulars, what flavor and concentration they preferred, and knew how to fashion the drugs to their taste. J-Hope loudly complained that he was getting replaced, but they all knew that J-Hope loved Jungkook, no matter what.

      “How many moles of cocaine do I need if the final product is ten grams?” Jungkook asked J-Hope, who was dozing on the couch in the lab, which was never a good idea, but there he was. Jungkook sighed. J-Hope’s position called for odd and long hours, so it was normal for him to nap wherever and whenever possible. Jungkook grabbed a pencil and paper, quickly scribbling out the equation and calculations, before punching them into a calculator.

      “0.0329 moles it is,” Jungkook said, not bothering to check his calculations. He was never wrong anyway. He drew a line, and converted the moles to grams. Carefully, he measured out the amount and placed it on the scale.

      “J’kook wadd’ve you done so far?” a tired J-Hope mutters, pulling himself up using the edge of the table.

      “Measured the cocaine for the ten grams,” Jungkook replies casually.

      “Is this for Mrs. Lee?”

      “Yeah”

      “Throw two milligrams of fentanyl* in there, will ya?”

      “Shit, Hobi. She’s like, eighty.”

      “Sixty-eight. Just do it.”

      “But the protein bonds—”

      “Jungkook. I know you’re really smart, but do you know drugs like I do?”

      “Ok, fine, fine” Jungkook mutters as he picks up the bag marked “Fentanyl”. Carefully, under J-Hope’s watchful eye, he measured out the necessary amount and set it aside in a small glass bowl.

      “Have you made the one for Selene yet?” J-Hope asks, moving to the adjacent table to peer through the records. Pages and pages of neat, immaculate handwriting of years and years of work lay in a oversized binder atop the wooden desk. The binder was J-Hope’s greatest treasure. Every customer’s basic information was recorded, all under other names. Nothing except height, weight, age, and recipe preference is taken, in order to maintain security and privacy.

      “No, why? You need it tonight?” Jungkook asked, still in the middle double-checking the recipe that was in front of him, written by J-Hope.

      “She’s at a party tonight, at her college campus. She needs some before her parents leave for whatever beach house it is this time,” J-Hope answered. He peered at the paper where the ink had smeared a little before removing it and placing it across from Jungkook and reaching for beakers.

      “What’s up with Selene? She’s filthy rich, but why drugs?” Jungkook asked, reaching for a clear plastic bag to put his finished product into.

      “She’s filthy rich, yes, but isn’t that what rich people do?” J-Hope asked, flicking through the bottles.

      “Yeah, but—” Jungkook starts again, looking up from where he was filling out an index card of the bag’s stats.

      “Her parents aren’t exactly the happiest couple, you know. Their marriage, like so many other rich people’s, were arranged. So her mother hates her father and vice versa. It’s only worse because she’s there, and they put an act on in front of her. She’s laughed about it so many times, even complaining about being rich, especially since that despite her money, she just wants to be loved. And they can’t divorce, since that means splitting the business mogul, but it’s going to end up back in Selene’s hands anyway, as the only heir. So she gets into trouble so her parents would pay attention to her. Her latest is the drugs,” J-Hope rambles. Jungkook is in shock. He’d never thought about parents abandoning their kids. Call him naive, but it wasn’t technically his fault. He was raised in an orphanage, without real parents. But his memebrs here were all that he ever needed. Who needs parents when you have brothers who take you as one of their own, whereas the parents pushed you away? Certainly not Jungkook.  

      “Found it” J-Hope mutters, flicking open a bottle of—

      “Hobi, is that the flour?” Jungkook asks, sure that the man has read it wrong.

      “Nope, like I said, she’s not actually a druggie. She’s just trying to get attention,” J-Hope mutters as he dumps a handful into a plastic bag. Jungkook watches in confusion as J-Hope pops the lid back on and places it at the end of the shelf.

      “She needs to have a show,” J-Hope explains upon seeing Jungkook’s dubiety, “She wants something that looks like crack, but isn’t crack, but also with enough crack in it so that it’ll red flag any police sensors or that shit.”

      “Ohhh, that makes sense,” Jungkook says. J-Hope glances over.

      “You done with that fentanyl?” J-Hope asks. Jungkook nods and J-Hope reaches over.

      “Is it possible to snort flour?” Jungkook asks, just because he knows it’ll get on J-Hope’s nerves.

      “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one here,” Damn. A medium roast. At least it’s not Yoongi, right?

      “I was just asking,” Jungkook said, putting his hands up defensively. He’s just about to reach for his phone when J-Hope barks out.

      “Wash those paws before you touch your phone!”

      “Ok Grandpa”

      “I’m not _that_ old”

      “Why do you sound like my mother?”

      “We both know your mother is Jin.”

      “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Jungkook rolls his eyes as he heads over to the sink.

      “Should I make the run to Selene’s or are you?” J-Hope asks as he seals the bag and scribbles on an index card.

      “I want to go,” Jungkook replies.

      “Why, so you can buy ice cream on your way home?” J-Hope asks with a knowing look.

      “Come with me then, if you want ice cream.” Jungkook replied happily as he dropped the bag for Mrs. Lee in an envelope and tucked it into a shelf marked “Wednesday”. An offer like ice cream was too good an opportunity to pass up, J-Hope decided.

      “I’ll come with,” J-Hope said as he pulled on his jacket. Jungkook grinned and grabbed his own jacket. They left a note for RM on the door as they left, the cool night air whipping in their faces.

* * *

   In room 404 of NCity University’s dorms, lived two boys. According to their door’s name tag, their names are Park Chanyeol and Park Jimin. Everyone knows of the “music nerd” Chanyeol and the “dance lord” Jimin, but no one actually knows them, besides the fact that they are _not_ brothers. In their own opinions, there’s not much to know about them. They’re just young, dumb, and broke college kids.

     “Jimin? Have you seen the toothpaste?” Chanyeol called out the room. A muffled “shit” is heard before Jimin’s head pops up from behind the couch, hand triumphantly holding his phone.

     “Did I not buy a new one?” Jimin asks.

     “I don’t know, but we don’t have one, and I remember really milking that last one,” Chanyeol replies as he goes to the kitchen to grab some baking soda.

     “I’ll go buy some from the convenience store down the street,” Jimin offers.

     “No, you bought the groceries this week. I’ll go buy the toothpaste,” Chanyeol says, “and probably toilet paper and shampoo and all the toiletries.”

     “You sure?” Jimin asks. Chanyeol only hums before putting the baking soda back and disappearing back into the bathroom.

     Chanyeol and Jimin were attending NCity University, one of the most famous in the nation. They, unlike most of the student population, had gotten in on talent and skill. Most of the others seemed to have a parent that attended, or were moneybags. Chanyeol had been composing music since he was in middle school, and his award-winning composition was eventually what won his full scholarship. Jimin was a dance fanatic. Dance is Jimin and Jimin is dance. He had been dancing for as long as he could remember. Boasting an impressive resume, his national awards had also won him a full scholarship. Both Chanyeol and Jimin were smart and talented, but one thing they could really use was money. A shit ton of money. They get by, sure, but sometimes it’s too difficult. Despite their jobs, Chanyeol as a croupier and Jimin as a dance teacher, money still had high and low points. Sometimes when food is short, they try to make the other eat, but Chanyeol always wins the argument, insisting that he could probably bribe the barista for food during work hours. Besides, Jimin needs the energy to maintain his muscles and keep dancing. Jimin’s very proud of his physique, although it is nothing overly impressive, still makes all the girls drool and Chanyeol very, very jealous.

      Later that night, Chanyeol and Jimin are in their respective rooms, trying to sleep. The third floor, however, doesn’t want to sleep. Bass booming over loud music makes the floorboards shake, and eventually, Chanyeol’s had enough.

     “Fuck this shit!” he yells, flinging off his covers. Jimin hears his roommate's yell and gets up as well.

     “You wanna complain to the security?” Jimin asks, rubbing his eyes.

     “They won’t do jack-shit,” Chanyeol mutters, “Moneybags, remember?”

     “Oh, you right,” Jimin yawns. He had an exhausting dance lesson today. Why can’t kids understand that dance is an art and not something you expect to be good at overnight?

     “Their choice of music sucks too,” Chanyeol ranted, “who the fuck puts two augmented fourths in a row? That’s against Bach’s rules of voice leading!” Jimin rolls his eyes.

     “Y’know, sometimes I really wonder, how the fuck are we related?” Jimin mutters.

     “Distantly related, we have the same grandpa,” Chanyeol replies.

     “That makes us cousins, dipshit,” Jimin groans, “We don’t have the same grandpa. Our grandpas were brothers,”

     “What does that make us?” Chanyeol asks.

     “I don’t fucking know,” Jimin replied, “but no one would know we were related. Look at you, fucking six foot I-don’t-know-how-many-inches—”

     “One”

     “And fucking look at me, five nine”

     “You mean, five eight-and-a-half”

     “Fuck off, lemme round up”

     “It’s not that bad,” Chanyeol tries to help.

     “No, literally, no girl’s ever gonna want a guy that’s barely taller than she is,”

     “Then don’t swing that way”

     “I don’t—what the fuck?”

     “Be gay, like me” Chanyeol said as he reached into their fridge to grab the almost-empty tub of ice cream.

     “That’s gay” Jimin replied as he watched Chanyeol lick the spoon with a licentious expression.

     “Exactly”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fentanyl- extremely addictive additive in cocaine. Not suitable for a 68 y/o lady, or anyone, for that matter. :)
> 
> LMAO don't ask me about how I know all these drug facts. Let's just say that my school is...mile-high? and not the mountain kind. I am excellent at chemistry though (at least in my opinion, but my grades kinda tell a different story). 
> 
> I'm only addicted to K-pop, music, and video games, don't worry about me y'all. <3
> 
> DON'T DO DRUGS, KIDS!


End file.
